


The One Where Ignis Runs Over Gladio's Foot (aka One Seriously Shitty Day)

by Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chill XV, Fluff, Ignis is out of his comfort zone, M/M, Noctis attempts to help, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Game(s), Pre-Relationship, Secret Crush, poor Iggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: When Noctis realises that Ignis has a crush on Gladio he encourages Ignis to do something about it with a fool-proof plan. At this point it should be noted that Noctis is not a born strategist....





	The One Where Ignis Runs Over Gladio's Foot (aka One Seriously Shitty Day)

**Author's Note:**

> When I complained that ['Five Days'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11665461/chapters/26250756) wouldn't now fit neatly into five chapters, Banj and Faygo Mayhem jokingly suggested I made the events take place over one 24 hour period and call it 'One Seriously Shitty Day'.
> 
> I didn't, but what I _did_ do was use that title to write a new fic, based on Noct's in-game comment to Gladio about Deadeye's roar sounding 'just like you when Ignis ran over your foot in the Regalia'. This is the story of how that happened. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos give me life. <3

“You like him, don't you?”

Ignis blinks and turns to face Noct, who’s resting his chin on one upturned hand, studying the small group of fighters down in the arena. He's still holding a pen, but he's not written a single word of the assignment that's due in two days’ time.

“Excuse me?” he replies eventually.

“Gladio.”

“I'm sorry, I don't-”

“Hey, it's not a criticism,” Noctis adds, finally turning to look at him. “It's just an observation.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, potentially the only indication that he's flustered by the question. His cheeks feel hot. He looks away.

“Does he know?” Noct asks after a moment.

After running through possible responses - from flat out denial to pulling rank and demanding that Noct return his attention to his school work - he sighs and shakes his head.

“No… no, he doesn't.”

Noct makes an expectant face, but when there's no follow up, he says, “Well, why not?”

There are a myriad reasons, yet he sees no purpose in enumerating them to Noctis, who, frankly, should be more concerned with his education or his role as future monarch. Evidently knowing how his chamberlain’s mind works, Noctis rolls his eyes.

“Okay, at least just give me the _best_ reason why you've not said anything.”

“He… he doesn't even know me.”

It sounds weak to his own ears, which are now joining his cheeks in turning red.

“But you have Crownsguard training with him.”

“Still-”

“And don't you have several classes with him?”

“I know, but-”

“And then there's all my royal duties, when you're both expected to come with me.”

“ _Okay_ ,” he says, a little more forcefully than he's used to, attracting the attention of two members of the Kingsglaive who are sitting a few rows away from them. When the men return to their conversation, he pushes at his glasses again and studies the ground before adding, in a much quieter voice, “there's a difference between being acquainted with someone and really knowing them.”

His gaze slips back to the arena floor, where Gladio is now demonstrating to the younger recruits how to swing a great sword without overbalancing. Somehow, he manages to make the action look extremely graceful. And hot. _Really_ hot. He thinks of his own weapon of choice, the pair of ornate daggers that he can throw with unswerving accuracy. Puny, compared to Gladio’s great sword.

“Besides,” he concludes with that thought fresh in his mind, “we’re just too different. Why would he be interested in me?”

“Wait. You just said the problem is you don't know each other, so how do you know you're too different? Maybe you should just, I dunno, try and actually _talk_ to him?”

Noct is staring at him, so he's trapped in that bright blue laser gaze. Sometimes he forgets that Noctis is intelligent under the slacker, reluctant monarch exterior that he under-enthusiastically projects. He sighs. Noct is right, of course, but instead of saying that, he nods at the empty workbook resting on the prince’s lap.

“You know this assignment isn't going to write itself, Noct.”

He looks away, but can feel the curl of Noct’s satisfied smile. Damn it.

OoOoO

The conversation with Noct makes him realise one thing: that his subtle pining for the shield-in-waiting and undetectable observations of him are obviously neither subtle nor undetectable. It makes things awkward - whenever he sees Gladio, he feels like he's got a big neon sign on his head that will spell out every feeling he has about the other man and - _worse_ \- every wayward thought he has about him, when he's alone in his room at night. At the very least, he definitely goes a little red whenever Gladio’s around, which means he’s no choice but to minimise contact at every opportunity. Maybe avoiding Gladio will put an end to this ridiculous infatuation and Gladio will never realise.

Naturally, this results in the opposite to what he actually wants to happen. Gladio starts to seek him out whenever they're together, firstly with his eyes and then, gods help him, to make actual _conversation_. He mumbles some pathetic excuse about being late to go somewhere and runs like Ifrit himself is on his tail. He's feeling bad enough about it all when Noct makes thing exponentially worse as he's cooking dinner for him one night. He's almost done - sadly the vegetables he brought are languishing on the side, unused - when Noct peers over his shoulder and dips a finger in the sauce that he's stirring.

“You know,” he says, sauntering away, completely ignoring the disapproving glare being fired in his direction. “I was speaking to Gladio today after training.”

“Oh?” he says mildly, with only the slightest falter in the smooth stirring motion. He doesn't look up, because otherwise it’ll look like he's interested, even though his heart has started to beat a little faster, and he can already feel the blood galloping toward his ears.

“Yeah,” Noct replies casually, pausing to suck the sauce off his finger. “He wanted to know why you basically run away whenever he’s around.”

“I do not!” he retorts hotly, ruining the illusion of calm indifference that he was, up until that moment, pulling off with total aplomb.

He glances up and immediately regrets it, because Noct’s eyes are dancing with amusement.

“He seems to think you do.”

With a weary sigh, he gives the sauce one final stir and turns off the heat. His hands come to rest on the countertop, which he studies for a moment, before looking up again.

“Is it that obvious?”

Noct nods, and mercifully, the humour has gone from his expression. “He was asking me if I knew what the problem was. He wanted to know if he'd done anything to offend you.”

“Of course not! What… what did you tell him?”

“I didn't tell him you were madly in love with him if that's what you're worried about.”

“Good,” he replies shortly, ears burning hotter than ever. “Because that would be completely inappropriate.” _But not untrue_.

Yet, part of him is disappointed; Noct saying something would be like ripping a bandaid off - painful, but infinitely better than the long, lingering torture that he's inflicting on himself.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Noctis persists. “Because Gladio definitely thinks that you hate him right about now, even though I said you didn't.”

He closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his nose. He can feel a migraine coming on. “I'll have to speak to him.”

“That's what I'm talkin’ about!” Noct grins, slapping the countertop in triumph.

“To set him straight that I don't hate him,” he adds sharply. “Anything else… well, I shall cross that bridge _if_ I come to it.”

“Cool.”

“Which is doubtful.”

Noct rolls his eyes and gesticulated at the pan.

“Come on, Specs. That dinner isn't gonna serve itself.”

OoOoO

Despite his uncharitable thoughts toward Noct and his obvious enjoyment of the unfolding situation, he finds himself following the prince’s suggestion about how he can get Gladio alone to talk to him in a way that appears completely uncontrived.

They've just got through a particularly gruelling training session. He asks Gladio to help perfect a block he's struggling with the footwork for (not really) so they hit the locker room after almost all of the other recruits have gone. Gladio announces he's taking a shower, just before - mercifully - the last couple of soldiers leave. Once they've gone, he heads for the door and, with a quick glance to check that Gladio isn't about to come back having forgotten his shampoo or something, he follows the instructions Noct gave him to jam the mechanism. These doors are notoriously temperamental, and it's not beyond the realms of possibility that they could just spontaneously malfunction, preventing anyone from getting in or out.

It's surprisingly easy. Beneath the uncharacteristic thrill of doing something illicit, it occurs to him he should probably find out how and why Noct knows how to do this. Then Gladio emerges from the shower, and all thought of everything flees because _oh, praise the gods_ , this man is _divine_. With only a towel to protect his modesty, Gladio saunters back into the locker room, water glistening on his muscled skin.

“Huh? Everybody gone?” he comments, as he heads to where he's left his gym bag.

“Oh, uh, yes. I believe so.” Excellent. His intelligence is clearly as absent as Gladio’s clothing. To avoid eye contact, he buries his head in his open locker, apparently looking for something deep within its recesses. He doesn't realise that Gladio has come to stand right next to him until a strong hand is laid on his arm.

“You okay, Iggy?”

He jumps, his head meeting the shelf with an undignified thump. _Iggy?_ Never, aside from the prince who is exempt from pretty much everything else that applies to normal people, has anyone attempted to give him a nickname. Yet… he doesn't hate it. Something stirs within him at the thought that it's _Gladio_ that's given him this name. He rubs his head ruefully, realising he still hasn't said anything and the other man is waiting for an answer.

“Oh, uh, yes, sorry. I was a little preoccupied. Noct has a new class schedule. I was just checking the time. I was hoping to speak to you about something actually-”

“Time,” Gladio repeats to himself. “ _Time_. Shit! Do you know what time it is?”

“Oh,” he says, “It’s, uh, ten to eleven?”

“Shit!”

Gladio jumps like he's been shot. He spins on his heel, letting his towel fall at the same moment and - _Six, have mercy_ \- flashes his bare, taut, toned, beautifully proportioned behind as he races back to his clothing. “Sorry, Iggy. I gotta run!”

Gladio fights his way into his clothes, whilst simultaneously stuffing his gym stuff into the bag. He hops into one boot, and has almost stomped the other one on when he reaches the door and pulls. Nothing.

“What the…?” Gladio mutters and tries the handle more forcefully this time. “Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me…”

Still recovering from the glorious sight of Gladio's backside, he straightens his glasses and turns.

“What's the matter?” he asks, impressed by how innocent he manages to sound.

“The goddamned door is stuck again,” Gladio growls, rattling the handle again. He pushes a hand through his damp hair and gives the door a kick for good measure. “Dammit!”

“Oh,” he says, approaching slowly. In truth, he hadn’t expected Gladio to be quite so annoyed. “Has this happened before?”

“Yeah,” Gladio waves his hand at it in irritation. He's already rummaging for his phone to call someone. “The last time it happened they said it looked like some _moron_ had been fuckin’ with the mechanism.”

His face starts to turn an interesting shade of pink, but fortunately, whoever Gladio’s calling chooses that exact moment to answer, and he spins away to take the call. It's a reasonably brief conversation, but mercifully long enough for the blush to fade a little by the time Gladio makes eye contact with him again as he ends the call.

“Someone will be along soon,” Gladio says glumly, moving to sit with his back against the door before turning his attention to lacing up his boots since there's evidently no rush. His mood is very un-Gladiolike, which is a concern. The door being locked is surely a minor inconvenience, at best.

“Are you okay, Gladio?” he asks, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

Gladio finishes tying his boots and sighs, arms coming to rest on his knees. He tries not to notice how it makes Gladio's biceps bulge.

“Yeah, I just really needed to get to Drautos’s class ‘cause… hey, never mind. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

He blinks. He did say that, didn't he, but the moment’s gone. He's too thrown by Gladio’s dismayed reaction to being locked in here with him. Or possibly the memory of Gladio’s naked rear. Either way, he shakes his head and says, “It wasn't important.”

Gladio nods and looks like he's about to say something, but then there’s a knock at the door. He jumps up and bangs on the barrier.

“Archer? That you?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” comes the muffled reply.

He stands in helpless silence, watching as Gladio, assisted by the man on the other side of the door, work together to get it open. There's a lot of grunting and straining and he almost feels too guilty to enjoy the sight of Gladio’s endeavours. Almost. When the door finally gives, Gladio runs to grab his gym bag. He's almost out the door when he stops quickly.

“Sorry that took a while,” Gladio says breathlessly, “Hope it’s not made you miss anything.”

And then he's gone, taking with him the opportunity for that all important heart to heart. He closes his eyes and sighs.

OoOoO

The memory of the locker room stays with him all day. With startling accuracy, he can picture Gladio, wrapped only in a towel, skin glistening, fresh from the shower. He imagines the feel of Gladio’s hand on his arm, and then - the main act - the sight of Gladio’s derrière as he drops the towel and hurries to get dressed.

As lovely as this visual-fest is, it's horribly distracting. He's in meetings for most of the day and on a couple of occasions he has to excuse himself when he finds himself on the verge of getting hard. The worst moment is when Regis himself asks if he's okay. Despite the king saying it's unnecessary, he apologises profusely, blaming the onset of a migraine for his lack of focus. Regis insists he go home to rest, which is mortifying to say the least.

He leaves the meeting room and detours to the water fountain, where he stays for a few moments, splashing water on his face after taking a few mouthfuls. He realises Regis must have adjourned the meeting for a few moments, as voices join him in the hallway. It's impossible not to tune into the conversation when he hears Gladio’s name mentioned. A quick glance confirms it's Drautos.

“I'm sorry, Clarus,” the other man says, “but I've had to do it. Gladiolus was late for my class again this morning.”

He hears Clarus Amicitia make a sharp tutting noise. “Please accept my apologies, Drautos. Gladiolus was well aware of the consequences of being late on one further occasion. I will of course support any punishment or sanctions you choose to impose and will be including a few of my own at home. It's the only way he’ll learn.”

The conversation fades as the two men walk in the opposite direction down the corridor. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath, hand frozen on the faucet. No wonder Gladio was so panicked at the thought of being late. This is his fault, and he has to make it right, no matter what awkward questions might follow.

Despite Regis’s instruction, he doesn't go home. What he does do, is take himself off to the palace gardens. He knows where he can find a secluded spot and he goes to it, settling on a bench away from the main path. He loves the tranquility of the walled gardens and the opportunity to think and reflect that they afford him. The subject of today’s reflections, however, don't sit easy with him at all.

His feelings for Gladio are starting to snowball into something unmanageable and, in his experience, uncontrollable things are usually dangerous. Already, it’s impacting on his ability to do his job and now, he's inadvertently dragged Gladio into this whole sorry mess. He's an idiot. Gladio has no reason to be interested in him and when the other man finds out that he's responsible for getting him into trouble with both Drautos and his father, he's certain to think even less of him.

He needs to come clean. And then he needs to get over this ridiculous infatuation. It's as simple as that.

OoOoO

He leaves the gardens when it's time to collect Noct from school and take him to his latin class. He takes Regis’s car and drives to the school, parking outside the front gates while he waits for Noct to come out. Amongst the throngs of students, he finally spots Noctis sauntering along with Prompto, school bag slung carelessly over his back. They chat until they reach the gates, at which Prompto turns and goes off up the street, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. Noct opens the door and flings himself onto the passenger seat.

“Hey, Specs.”

“Did Prompto not want a lift home?”

“Nah,” Noct replies, slouching in the seat. “He's going to the arcade, lucky bastard.”

He ignores the profanity as he starts the engine and pulls out into traffic. After a few moments of silence, he glances over. Noct appears to be asleep.

“How was your day?” he enquiries politely.

Another glance. Noct cracks one eye open.

“Same old, same old.” It's clear something's just occurred to him when he suddenly lurches forward, unusually animated. “Hey, never mind me! How was _your_ day? How'd it go with Gladio?”

“It didn't.”

He focusses on keeping his eyes on the road even though Noct’s gaze is boring into the side of his head.

“Aw, man. You blew it?”

He bristles at the insinuated inadequacy.

“Certainly not. Your idea was ostensibly a terrible one, however the blame shall sit squarely with me for listening to you in the first place.”

“So you _did_ blow it then.”

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Noct shaking his head.

“If you want, I could talk to him for you?”

“Absolutely not!”

Noct lapses into sullen silence for the remainder of the ride. When they arrive at the tutor’s house, he climbs out of the car and lopes toward the building with typical teenage enthusiasm. Only once Noct is inside, does he realise that the prince’s phone is sitting on the passenger seat. As he's glancing at it, a text comes through. His heart does a funny little stutter when he sees Gladio’s name flash onto the lock screen. With a twinge of guilt, he picks up the handset.

_Sorry Noct. Won't be able to make it tomorrow night. Have got extra sessions with Drautos until eight every night for the next three weeks._

He puts the phone back down and lets out a long, weary breath. Gladio’s really going to hate him now.

OoOoO

The two hours pass painfully slowly. He tries to play some King’s Knight to take his mind off the situation with Gladio, but he can't concentrate on that either, so gives up. Noct eventually returns, snatching up his phone as soon as he's back in the car. He scrolls through the messages he's received while he's been gone - mostly, undoubtedly from Prompto, given the intermittent snorts of amusement.

“Good lesson?” he enquires.

“Mmmmm.” At the noncommittal reply, he glances over to see Noct now frowning at his phone.

“Problem, Noct?”

“Uh… ah, no, nothing. Just a message from Gladio. Sounds like he’s in trouble with Drautos.”

When he doesn't respond, Noct turns to look at him, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Times like this, he wishes Noct wasn't quite so perceptive.

“Does this have anything to do with you striking out this morning, Specs?”

He needs to come clean, despite how humiliating this all is, so he tells Noct exactly what happened. They've just turned into Noct’s street when he says, “I'm going to have to talk to him, explain that it's my fault.”

Noct is looking past him at this point. “Now’s your chance,” the prince says, nodding in the direction of the sidewalk.

He turns and looks, and _gods help him_ , Gladio is there, walking up the road, with his back to the car.

“Go after him, offer him a ride home,” Noct urges. “It's the perfect time to talk.”

Before he can do anything, Noct has reached over and sounded the horn. Naturally, Gladio jumps and spins around, his expression flicking from one of annoyance to one of pleasant surprise when he sees the Regalia coming toward him.

They lock eyes as they draw close and his heart does that funny little mis-beat, which - he firmly believes - is to blame for what happens next. He's only driving at about five miles per hour, and he's too busy looking at Gladio’s smiling face to notice that the other man has stepped off the sidewalk onto the road. Gladio suddenly makes a noise that he's never heard another human make before, but - he imagines - is similar to one a behemoth would make when being stabbed in the rump.

Naturally, his first instinct is to slam on the brakes. He's embarrassed by how long it takes him to work out what's happened - the definitive clue being when Gladio slaps the roof of the car and bellows, “It’s on my FOOT!”

Inexplicably, he's forgotten how to put the car in reverse, even though rolling it forward would also solve the problem. His fumbling fingers eventually find reverse and he moves the car back off Gladio’s foot. The other man crumples to the floor, holding the injured body part, eyes closed, breathing through the pain. He hurriedly turns the engine off and throws open the door.

Hopefully, Gladio's heavy boots will have saved him… or they would have if he was actually wearing them. Drautos has obviously had him in extra physical activity as part of his punishment and, as a result, Gladio’s walking home in his gym clothes.

“Oh my goodness,” he says, dropping to his haunches, “Gladio, are you okay?”

“Arghhh,” is Gladio’s response, which is presumably a no. “My fuckin’ _foot!_ ”

“I'm so sorry,” he says, as Noct appears, the prince’s expression a mix of concern and - on seeing Gladio is not seriously injured - amusement. Fortunately, Gladio doesn't notice.

“We should get your shoe off, in case it swells.”

Somehow they manage it. Already Gladio’s foot is turning an interesting shade of purple and ballooning nicely. It'd be a miracle if he didn't have any broken bones. The pain is clearly ebbing slightly as Gladio lets out a short bark of laughter.

“Dammit, Iggy, you sure know how to get my attention.”

“Let’s get you in the car,” he says, ignoring his own mortification. “You need to get it checked out at the hospital.”

 _Gods_ , he's never going to live this down, unless the other two keep quiet about what he's done.

“Noct?” He looks up, expecting Noct to be ready to help get Gladio back on his feet, but the prince is typing something on his phone. “Noct… what are you doing?”

Noct looks up. “Oh, sorry. I was just texting Prompto telling him you ran over Gladio’s foot.”

“Noct-” he begins wearily, before Gladio cuts in first, the other man’s voice little more than a growl.

“Noctis, put your damn phone away before I shove it up your-”

“Gladio!”

He takes a deep, steadying breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Sadly, when he opens them, it's all still there. Evidently, Gladio’s threat worked, as Noct has pocketed his phone and is waiting to help Gladio into the car. There's some undignified hopping, and understandable cursing, but eventually Gladio is in the passenger seat, his gym bag resting on his lap. Noct bids them farewell and heads into his apartment - presumably anxious to phone Prompto and give him all the gory details - leaving the two of them alone.

They've been en route to the hospital for almost five minutes before he can bring himself to say anything. Gladio is silent beside him, eyes fixed on the view out of the window.

“Gladio…” he says quietly. “I am so, _so_ sorry.”

He's greeted by Gladio’s frown.

“Iggy, it was an accident. You don't need to apologise.”

If anything, he feels worse. He doesn't deserve Gladio’s forgiveness, since his preposterous actions this morning have caused a ripple effect that have resulted in this disaster. They reach the hospital and he helps Gladio hobble inside. The hospital is used mainly by employees of the citadel and the Crownsguard so he doesn't expect they'll have to wait for long. They're in luck, as the waiting room is completely empty.

It requires serious effort to stay focussed with his arm around Gladio’s waist, their bodies pressed together. Likewise, Gladio’s arm around his shoulder, strong fingers gripping a handful of his shirt. He gets Gladio seated and then heads to the desk to book him in.

With that done, he drops into the plastic seat beside the other man, allowing his eyes to drift to the muted television playing in the corner for a moment. He hears Gladio breathe out a long, wearied sigh.

“Seriously, this day has _completely_ sucked behemoth balls.”

Guilt surges again; he needs to come clean. He swallows and forces himself to meet Gladio’s gaze.

“Unfortunately, I fear I am principally responsible for your woes, Gladio.”

“Huh? I've told you, it was an acc-”

“Not that,” he clarifies, “well, yes, that, but I meant the other um, situation, you found yourself in today.” Clearly, the penny still hasn't dropped. “Being locked in the locker room after training?”

Gladio’s eyebrow knit into a deep frown. “You did that? How?”

“Noct showed me how to jam the mechanism.”

The frown is becoming a vortex, into which all of Gladio’s facial features are in danger of being pulled.

“But _why?_ What the hell would you wanna do that for?”

He sighs again and looks down at the floor. It's hard and shiny and sadly lacking in the potential to open up and swallow him, thus saving him from this utter humiliation. He'd intended to come clean about getting Gladio into trouble and leave it there, but it appears his conscience isn't done with its confessions just yet.

“I wanted to speak to you. Alone.”

“Ah,” Gladio responds suddenly. “You _said_ you wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Yes.”

“Well, now’s your chance.”

“Now?” he splutters.

Gladio gestures to the deserted waiting area. “You wanted alone. Can't see anywhere more perfect than this.”

It's true, and as much as he'd like to put this conversation off ’til… well, _forever_ , he owes it to Gladio to be honest with him. There's a long silence, while he mentally starts the conversation, shelves it and then starts again, multiple times.

“Iggy?”

There's that nickname again, the familiarity of which is both attractive and depressing. He sighs; he's stalled long enough.

“Recently… I've become aware that my interest in you extends beyond the bounds of mere acquaintances.”

There, he's said it. He stops and waits for Gladio’s reaction to this earth-shattering declaration of affection, but if anything Gladio looks confused.

“Wait,” Gladio says, eyebrows knitted into a deep frown. “Feel free to tell me if I'm way off, but is that Ignis-speak for saying you're in love with me?”

His whole face feels as if it's on fire. He feels stupid. He's not normally so clumsy with words.

“Well, ‘love’ is potentially a _little_ hyperbolic,” he replies, flustered.

He chances a glance at the other man, and is horrified to see amusement dancing in Gladio’s eyes. It's impossible not to be offended.

“I’m sorry my feelings are a joke to you, Gladio.”

“What? Hey, no, I'm not laughing at you, Iggy,” Gladio rushes to say, expression sobering instantly. “I’m just amused that I'd told Noct I liked you, but I honestly didn't think you'd be interested.”

He studies Gladio in amazement, scarcely able to believe what he's hearing.

“You… you told Noct you liked me? When?”

Gladio considers the question for a moment and then shrugs. “Dunno. Few weeks ago, maybe? I made him swear he wouldn't say anything to you though. Why?”

He recounts the similar talk he'd had with Noct. “He didn't say anything about your conversation, but he was obviously watching me, trying to decide if I might be similarly interested in you. When he saw I was, he then encouraged _me_ to approach _you_.”

“Huh,” Gladio acknowledges, thinking. “I guess we should be impressed that the prince is a man of his word, but you never _seemed_ interested.”

“In all fairness, I thought my affections were unrequited. I was trying to distance myself in the hope that my feelings would pass. But then Noct told me you thought I was avoiding you and that you were upset with me.”

Gladio shakes his head, frowning. “I never said that.”

He considers this information for a moment. “I think Noct realised the only way I'd actually come and talk to you would be if I thought I'd offended you.”

“So we got played,” Gladio growls. “The sneaky little bastard.”

Possibly not the most appropriate way to refer to the future King of Lucis, but on this occasion he's inclined to agree. They sit for a moment, just two men side by side lost in thought.

“So lemme get this straight,” Gladio says, breaking the silence. “Your plan was to lock me in the locker room with you, so you could confess your feelings?”

“I admit it sounds foolish. I believe the pertinent lesson from this is never to take advice from Noctis.”

“And running over my foot? Was that his idea or yours?”

“That was an accident!” he retorts hotly. “This isn't funny, Gladio.”

“Oh, come on,” Gladio replies, giving him a playful shove. “You’ve gotta admit, it is a _bit_ funny.”

“I'm glad you find potentially broken bones so amusing,” he says indignantly, even though a small smile is forcing its way onto his face.

“They're _my_ bones, so I can laugh about ‘em all I want.”

“Well, I _am_ sorry. And tomorrow, I'll go to see Drautos and explain that I was solely to blame for your tardiness. I can only pray that he’ll revoke the punishment. You shouldn't be disciplined for something that wasn't your fault.”

“Hey,” Gladio says softly. He looks down to see Gladio’s hand reaching for his own, their fingers entwining. “It was worth it.”

“I believe I shall remind you of that after the x-rays.”

“Won't change my opinion.”

He looks at Gladio’s face. Even the overly bright hospital lighting can't detract from the other man’s beauty. He marvels at it, but even as he does, he's aware of a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Too late, he realises that he's staring with an expression of concern that's projecting that worry.

“Iggy? What you thinking about?”

He ducks his head, embarrassed, before realising that he needs to look into Gladio’s eyes when he asks the next question. If there's a hint of doubt or regret, then he needs to see it.

“Why me?” he asks simply.

“You’re asking me why I like you?”

“Yes.”

Gladio smiles, but his eyebrow twitch in a frown, like the question is a crazy one because the answer should be obvious.

“You're kiddin’, right? Iggy, you're… you're _everything_.”

Something kindles inside him, a growing warmth, a spark of something unknown, but exciting all the same. He's a realist - maybe they'll quickly realise that beyond the initial thrill of this mutual attraction, they're not compatible at all and the flame will be doused to the satisfaction of them both. Or maybe it'll flourish, growing into something special that enriches both of their lives, a treasure for the good times, and a safe mooring against the bad.

He looks back at their joined hands, his long slender fingers laced with Gladio’s thick calloused ones, and gives a quick squeeze. When a nurse approaches, neither of them see fit to let go. It feels good. Feels _right_.

“Mr. Amicitia?”

“That's me,” Gladio replies with a grin.

“If you'd like to come through? The doctor is ready to see you now.”

Gladio obediently manoeuvres himself into the wheelchair the nurse has brought, keeping his damaged foot off the floor. Once Gladio is settled, she looks round and smiles.

“Would you like to drive?” she says brightly, gesturing to the grips on the back of the chair.

He ignores Gladio's loud snort of laughter as he takes the handles and pushes him down the corridor and into the doctor’s room.

 

**End**

  

 


End file.
